My Junk Is You
by Steph-Schell
Summary: Every night Charlie comes home to a half drunk/half stoned boyfriend and a shitty apartment. And she's never felt safer. For the TSC prompt #21 "You're never too old for a lullaby."


The apartment was cramped and dingy but Charlie loved it all the same. It was the only place in the world where she truly felt like herself. "Connor!" she yelled. "Where the fuck are you?"

"Kitchen!" he called back. "And the cunt called again. Message is on the phone."

Charlie hit the play back button and listened to her mother's voice float out. "Charlie? Charlie pick up if you're there. Sweetie, I know you're not happy with me but I just want to take care of you okay? Please, Charlie, call me. I'll have Miles come pick you up and you can come home. Please."

Charlie snorted as she pressed delete. "And what home would that be?" she muttered. "The one where Ben drinks all day? Or the one your trampy ass ran off to with that dick Miles when you abandoned your family for an utter perv? Or maybe you mean the one where Danny hung himself and I had to cut down his body?"

Before her thoughts could get too dark and depressing, Connor's voice cut through them. "This home," he said as he leaned against the entrance of the kitchen with his dinner in his hands. "Right here with me in our shitty little apartment in the ghetto. That's home."

Charlie gave him the ghost of a smile. "This is home," she agreed. She took the spoon from his hand and took a bite of his mac n cheese. "Not bad."

"And mine," Connor retorted, taking the spoon back. "I made it. So you have to hunt for your own dinner. Fair warning, this is the last of the mac n cheese. Want a few hits to recover from work?"

"God yes," she breathed. "Roll me a fat one." Charlie moved past him to scour the kitchen for some. They really needed to go grocery shopping this week. She managed to find some ramen noodles and put water on to boil. Strippers were supposed to be skinny anyway.

"Shit day at work?" Connor asked.

"I take my clothes off for a living. There's no such thing as good day," she replied. When her ramen was ready, she went to sit next to him on their half dead couch. "Did the dick call?"

Connor took a puff of his joint and passed it to her. "Fuck if I know," he rasped. "I broke my phone." He nodded to the small heap of electronics in the corner. "I'll get around to fixing it tomorrow. Not that I really want to speak to the sperm donor who couldn't be bothered to acknowledge my existence." Connor shook his head. "I'm not stoned enough for this."

"Don't you get black out drunk on Wednesdays?" Charlie asked as she took a long hit from the joint. "Wouldn't want to mess up your schedule." Talking about Connor's father was just…there was too much baggage there. For both of them.

"Fuck off," Connor muttered as he leaned back.

Charlie rubbed his arm. She hoped the weed would take over soon. He must have been having some real issues to have done that to his phone. "The ring tone scare you?" she asked softly.

"Maybe," he shrugged, sitting up to roll himself a new joint while Charlie continued working on the first one. "It's not that big a deal."

"Babe, did you not see the mess you made of your phone? That's a pretty big deal." She watched him take a puff off his joint. "Maybe we should get you in to see a doctor. They can get you better stuff to deal with your shit."

"My shit has a name," Connor told her. "It's called PTSD and we can't go to a doctor because those bastards cost money. And the VA is so fucking backed up I'll be 80 before they ever get to my case."

"I'm just saying…what we're doing isn't working. Maybe if go and tell them you're…I don't know suicidal, then…"

Connor barked out a laugh. "Babe they wish I was suicidal. The sooner I off myself, the sooner they can throw my case out and it's one less pain in their ass." Connor looked over at her ashen face and realized what he said. "Shit, baby, I shouldn't have said. That was a stupid thing to say. I'm sorry, I didn't mean it."

Charlie silenced him with a kiss. "I know you didn't mean it. You're the only person in my life who I can trust not to hurt me intentionally. That's why I love you."

"I'll talk to someone tomorrow," he promised softly.

"Connor, we agreed. No promises we can't keep. Look, I know you're trying. I just want you to get better. But we've got booze and weed and we will find some damn way to keep going."

"We have some seriously fucked up lives, don't we?" he sighed. Connor nodded as she took another hit off her joint. "I still think yours is more fucked up than mine. Do you really think your uncle wants to fuck you?"

"Connor, I'm a stripper. I know what it looks like when a man is seeing a piece of pussy that he wants. Miles has been looking at me like that since I hit puberty."

"And I thought war was bad."

Charlie set her bowl on the table. "That's enough of that. Come put your head in my lap."

"Wanna tell me why?"

"Because I know something that knocks you out every time. And you look like you could use some extra sleep." She grinned. "You're never too old for a lullaby babe."

Connor gave her a brief kiss before stretching out on the couch and laying his head on her lap. Charlie began to massage his head as she sang soft little lullabies to help him sleep. She smiled as his breathing began to slowly even out. This was home. Here it was just the two of them in their little safety net. There were no pervert uncles or decaying families. No parents that waited until your life was shit to check in on you if they were even still alive by then. They lived off pension checks and food stamps and the tips Charlie brought home in bra but they were happy. Even if the happiness came from weed and booze, it was better than what they had before. Charlie leaned back against the couch to catch her own nap. The apartment was dingy and cramped but she loved every inch of it.


End file.
